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Title: Memoirs of Mr. Priestly
Author: dearelphie
Pairing: Miranda/Stephen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Stephen reflects on his relationships with Miranda during their marriage.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Miranda, Stephen, Caroline and Cassidy, but Harry, Maggie, Sarah, Jack and Michael McKenzie are mine.
Author’s Note: Sorry for my long absence again. It's the final part of my work, so we can say Good Bye to Mr. Priestly. Thanks to all of you who read and left comments, I appreciate it really =))
After the benefit at the Met something changed in me. I stopped seeing Miranda as a sincere person. Miranda was a woman of contrasts. The “dark” and the “bright” sides were combined in her, and I had to admit she showed her “dark” side more often. She lived with it. I didn’t blame her; I just couldn’t accept her choice.
Miranda flew to Paris for the Fashion Week. The twins went to Greg, and I turned out to be alone in her huge townhouse. I felt bad. I went upstairs to my den, poured some whisky into the glass, took the handset and dialed a number. This time I didn’t call either McKenzie, or Jack, or Sarah, I called my brother.
“Harry, hi”, I said.
“Stephen?” Harry sounded a little surprised.
“Yes, Harry, it’s me. I need to talk to you.”
In an hour we were sitting at the café. It was an ordinary café unlike those we had had dinners with Miranda at. My brother was a lawyer, too. We saw each other not so often, but it didn’t mean we were upon bad terms. Sometimes I thought he was the only person whom I could trust. And this time I knew I needed him.
“Stephen, how can I help you?” Harry asked.
“I don’t even know what kind of help I need…”
And I told him about my troubles with Miranda.
“Stephen, I don’t know”, Harry said after I’d finished my story, “I like Miranda. Besides she helped me with my engagement last year, you know. But you’re my brother, and if everything you’ve just told me is so bad, indeed, I think you know what to do.”
“Do you think I’ll do right?”
“Tell me, why did we meet?” Harry asked with a smile. “You’ve almost taken a decision.”
“No, Harry. I’m not sure.”
“Stephen, it just was wrong. You didn’t get on, that’s it. It happens pretty often. Besides you haven’t got over your divorce with Maggie. You should live for yourself some time, and then maybe you’ll meet someone else.”
“I’ll never meet someone like Miranda.”
“I agree, she’s unique. But what do you need another one for, who’ll be exactly like her?”
“Harry”, I looked at him, “why are you always right?”
“Cause I’m elder one,” he laughed.
“And the twins? What about them?”
“They have parents, Stephen. Well… if they like you so much, you may go to cafes or cinemas together,” and he looked at me, “Stephen, don’t let anyone choose for you. It’s your life, and nobody knows better than you what you need.”
“Miranda says the same”, I said.
“That’s a pity it went wrong with her. Sometimes she can be a real bitch. But basically I’m sure she’s nice!”
Right this evening I drew up divorce papers and sent them to Miranda to Paris. I did my packing and brought all my stuff to my flat. Except for the Cadillac which I decided to keep, I took the only one thing from Miranda’s townhouse. It was the photograph of me and the twins took by Miranda in the Hamptons some months ago. For the last time I ran an eye over the house where I had spent more than two years. There was nothing what belonged to me. This house has never been mine. It’s belonged only to Miranda. I shut the door, got into the car and left.
I put into the envelope with the documents a letter to Miranda:
“Miranda, I never thought I would have to part with you like that. You usually tell me you are sorry when something is wrong. Apparently now I have to speak with your words. I am very sorry. I am sorry for I can’t be with you, as much as I’d like to. I tried my best, but I didn’t succeed. Hardly anyone can be with you, Miranda. Nearly no one can please you. Also I am sorry for I have to do to you what you did to your previous husband, sending him divorce papers without any explanations, but I took a decision. And one more thing… tell the twins please about everything yourself. I am sorry again. Stephen.
P. S. I’ll leave the key from your door at my secretary. You may send someone of your assistants to take it.”
I was riding through the night streets of New York and looking at walking people. Shops with popular brands’ signs were slipping by. New York was Miranda’s city. It would be dull without her. If not Miranda, perhaps there weren’t many of these shops; there weren’t beautiful stylish girls who hurried to work with “Starbucks” in hand in the mornings and sat at cafes and restaurants in the evenings. There weren’t businessmen who made money on fashion and looked like a million dollars. Without her there weren’t boring celebrations of some Museum’s anniversary which ended in some New York’s night club in the morning. There weren’t twins, and her slobbery dog, and my Cadillac after all. Maybe there weren’t a part of me which will always belong to her. I could do nothing with the fact that I lived in the city that reminded me of her with its every street. But it was also my city. All these people, these buildings, everything was the place where I lived. And now I could just go for a walk and meet beautiful women. I could have dinner at any restaurants I wanted and plan my weekends myself. Finally I felt free. Many things were worth learning from Miranda. I learned from her to value things which I hadn’t value earlier. I learned to feel the life. She taught me to leave. And I finally felt that life was good.
THE END.
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